


Dirty, Fast, and Mean

by HeartOfTheMirror



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Light BDSM, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Religion Kink, Training, Unreliable Narrator, oh god where do i start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfTheMirror/pseuds/HeartOfTheMirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sit back on your heels,” Bucky ordered, just to see if Steve would follow the command. He did, beautifully. The vibranium of his shield clanked against the  metal of the strange defunct machine behind him. Steve’s eyes looked up at Bucky with that sad longing reverence that made the ex-assassin spitting mad. Who the fuck taught Steve Rogers how to love, that he was wasting it on the man before him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty, Fast, and Mean

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Post Mission I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984186) by [SulaSafeRoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SulaSafeRoom/pseuds/SulaSafeRoom). 



> Un-beta'd. Written on impulse at 4am. 
> 
> Based on [ artwork by Sula](http://sulasaferoom.tumblr.com/post/139064790136) and motivated strongly by the Stucky Big Bang 2016 chat.

The howling wind, the flat gray sheet of snow that wavered like a banner all around him, yeah he was definitely in fucking Siberia. Again. They didn’t call him the Winter Soldier for nothing. This climate that had killed so many men was an inconvenience to him, an irritation and nothing more.

But the files were here, in the base where he had been sewn together from the parts of a dead man and electrocuted into his new undead life. Everyone forgot that Frankenstein was the name of the arrogant prick who made the monster. The monster never got a name. That was how things went. 

The soldier shook his head, dislodging the neat little pile of snowflakes that had been building on his dark hair and whipping the strands, damp from the melting snow, across his cheeks.

He knew bringing that blond hunk of beef with the puppy eyes would only cloud his head. He couldn't afford the fog of half-remembered things, the luxury of introspection, or old books written by dead hands.

The soldier flicked his cigarette to the ground and watched the roach sink through the snowbank as it burned its way down toward hell. He couldn't afford cigs either, but they’d been in the bag he’d lifted off the tourist in that quaint town outside Moscow. He’d pocketed them before he showed the disapproving idiot he was traveling with the rest of the goods he’d nabbed. 

Bucky turned on his heel and marched back inside the hunkering metal building with a scoff. Rogers was more of a hindrance than a help and he never should have let the man follow along.

But then he saw those blue eyes, so serious, turn to him when he entered and he remembered again why he couldn’t let the American go back to his government and beg for leniency that would never come. 

Not for the Winter Soldier, and not for anyone who aided and abetted a fucking notorious, shit fucking legendary, goddamn assassin who had at least one Christ-blessed president on his confirmed kill list _Steve_. Not that the punk needed any help, obviously. He definitely wasn’t about to get himself killed for the second or thousandth time fawning over the murder machine with scrambled eggs for brains. But whatever, contrary to fucking everyone in history, Bucky actually knew when to pick his battles. 

So here was Steve Rogers kneeling in a pile of papers written in Cyrillic with a pocket Russian dictionary in his hand, trying to translate and decode at the same time. They’d been here for hours sorting through the records that had been left behind. They’d gotten lucky the place had been so quickly abandoned, even if most of the files were junk and few of them even mentioned Bucky. 

The soldier strode forward, brushing his metal fingers through Steve’s blond frost-tipped hair the way one might caress a beloved lapdog. Steve leaned into the contact with a little hurt noise that went straight to Bucky’s cock.

He knew he rarely touched Steve anymore. He knew how starved the captain was for it. Gentle hands, skin on skin. _Bucky_ touching him, all over, like they used to. Friendly and unselfconscious even when they roamed the streets of Brooklyn with torn trousers and snotty noses.

He could probably train Steve to do tricks using only touch as a reward, Bucky thought darkly. He could start with simple commands like: sit, stay, beg, roll over. Steve vaulted him out of the little fantasy by tipping his head so that his forehead rested just a little against the toned meat of the soldier’s thick black-clad thigh. 

“It’ll get dark soon,” Steve murmured into the fabric. Bucky could feel the heat of his breath against his skin. “We should spend the night here. I saw a little room with a fireplace. I think it might have been a study.” With the ancient generator chugging away they would be warm enough through the night in the facility. 

They would leave if Bucky gave the word, even though it was suicide to drive the snowmobiles at night through this weather. Steve would do it if Bucky so much as hinted at the bad memories this place gave him.

It was stupid how devoted Steve still was, Bucky thought. Stupid and reckless and intoxicating. Bucky fisted his hand in Steve’s hair and pulled- not yanked sharply, but pulled with slow inexorable force. If Steve fought, made the slightest display of discomfort Bucky would call the whole thing off an exile himself and his half-a-pack of cigarettes back to the snow.

Steve didn’t try to resist. Which was good because it was the metal hand and even Captain America’s neck could snap if his captive yanked his head hard enough against that unforgiving force. Bucky didn’t like thinking about that. It made his stomach clench up worse than the bad fish in Kiev had done. The anxiety the thought of Steve’s death at his hands caused him felt like someone was wringing his insides out a dishrag.

His flesh fingers traced the dry pink lips of the angel on his knees before him. A sure enough distraction for all that Bucky hadn’t been bold enough to touch Steve this way in this lifetime. Like he owned him.

When Steve was a little guy Bucky’s cocky possessiveness had driven him crazy like a wild cat, spitting and hissing and fucking harder, slamming himself down on Bucky’s cock, or choking himself on it, or when it was Steve fucking Bucky (which was rare, not in the least because Bucky found it too overwhelming) he would jerk Bucky’s hips back into the force of his thrusts, his nostrils flaring like a bull’s.

Now Steve was just passive like a warm doll, letting Bucky do whatever he pleased. 

“Sit back on your heels,” Bucky ordered, just to see if Steve would follow the command. He did, beautifully. The vibranium of his shield clanked against the metal of the strange defunct machine behind him. Steve’s eyes looked up at Bucky with that sad longing reverence that made the ex-assassin spitting mad. Who the fuck taught Steve Rogers how to love, that he was wasting it on the man before him?

Bucky swallowed his anger. He didn’t want to hurt Steve. He just wanted to own him. He wanted to tie the man down and feed him by hand, never let him leave his sight. Bucky caressed the side of Steve’s face and listened to the hurt little whimper Steve tried to hide.

“Do you want it baby?” the soldier found himself saying as he pressed his thumb against Steve’s lips. Steve nodded desperately, opening his mouth in the most beautiful invitation. Bucky pushed his thumb in and stroked his metal fingers through Steve’s hair in reward. 

Steve hollowed out his cheeks sucking on the appendage like it was a cock. His tongue swirled around Bucky’s fingerpad, which had to taste like motor oil and stale cigarette, but Steve just whined through his nose and hitched his hips forward in a little, aborted motion like he was trying to find friction against the air.

“Good boy,” Bucky purred, stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You always knew how to suck me so well baby.” This wasn’t strictly true, but enthusiasm made up for a lot and praise that he could believe without questioning or contradicting was ambrosia to someone as self-effacing as Steve. 

No one had been dishing it out to his baby while Bucky’s brains were in the blender, that much was obvious. Steve needed a something a lot more personal than the Captain America shit to help him feel human. While Bucky lost himself again in thought, Steve’s hands were busy undoing the front of Bucky’s tactical pants, rubbing along the hard line of his cock without losing the pace he’d set sucking on Bucky’s finger. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled his hands away from Steve to tear off his jacket and yank his shirt over his head. Steve swallowed thickly and watched, his fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

“Please,” Steve said quietly. “I’ll be so good for you Buck. I promise.” 

“I know you will,” Bucky said casually with a small smile that found its reflection on Steve’s face a moment later. “You’re such a good boy. So pretty. Why don’t you put those pretty lips to work?”

“Yeeeees,” Steve breathed, drawing the word out like he was savoring it. The tension drained out of him as he leaned forward to nuzzle his face into Bucky’s fly. The contraption behind Steve was just tall enough that Bucky could lift his left leg up and rest it on top, so he did, pressing into Steve’s attentions.

“Please,” Steve begged. Bucky fisted his hand in Steve’s hair again, just enough so that he’d feel the pull and the sting.

“Oh,” Steve breathed. The pain was a revelation to him. He’d never gotten off on it before, and really it wasn’t the pain itself that was lighting him up like a Christmas tree now. The reminder of Bucky, that Bucky wanted him here, was holding him, was a potent thing.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky said, tugging on Steve’s hair sharply. “You’re mine now. Do you understand that, whore?” It was a word they’d played around with a little in the war. It made Steve shiver all over, his eyes a little unfocused.

“Fuck you,” Steve said, a little too softly.

“No,” Bucky said decisively. “You don’t get to fuck me, silly boy. You’re going to open up that gorgeous mouth of yours and show me a real nice time and then when you’re done I’ll _maybe_ think about letting you come.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve said mockingly, and that was more the spirit but the American’s eyes were still far too soft and wet and loving. Couldn’t a fella get a dirty rough fuck in an abandoned experimental medical facility anymore?

Steve tugged at Bucky’s trousers, pulling them down with one hand and gripping onto his lover’s thigh with the other to ground himself. Steve closed his eyes, his head tipped back and just breathed for a moment to clear his head, the way he did when he was about to pray.

 _Fogive me Bucky for I have sinned, it has been seventy years since my last confession…_ Bucky thought sarcastically. _Peace be with you. Body and blood. All for you Stevie, all for you._

And then Steve swallowed his cock down like he was starved for it and Bucky groaned deep from the bottom of his stomach and fought hard not to fuck into that beautiful mouth, to just let himself feel his baby’s devotion for a moment.

God, all he wanted was to just take, and take, and take, and let Steve give and give. But that would be right. So he yanked Steve’s head back and listened to the man gasp, ran his fingers over the spit and drool on Steve’s lips and tisked. 

“Why are you getting my property all messy Stevie? You know how I hate to have my things unclean.” Bucky grinned wide as he watched the fire stoke again in those icey blue eyes. 

Oh, it was gonna be a real fun night.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments would make me very happy!
> 
> I can be found at [ my tumblr also.](http://heartofthemirror.tumblr.com)


End file.
